


Confessing I

by littlemiss_m



Series: HOME, a series [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Dad!Cor, Gen, MT Prompto Argentum, Minor Injuries, Panic Attacks, Prompto Argentum Needs a Hug, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-05 06:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14038632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemiss_m/pseuds/littlemiss_m
Summary: Prompto and Cor have a long-awaited talk about Prompto's past, but Prompto has a lot more to confess to than the event of his creation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place at the beginning of Prompto and Noctis' third year of high school, roughly six months after the events of Homewrecking and Homemaking.
> 
> (If you thought I was done with the hurt, you were wrong. Sorry :p)

It takes almost half a year after the signing of the adoption papers for Prompto to feel comfortable enough to show up at Cor's apartment just for the fun of it. Since his primary address is at the Amicitia manor, that's where he spends the most of his nights – there or at Noctis' apartment – but somewhere along the way, Cor's apartment transforms from a safe haven to a home. Now, it's not unusual for Cor to come to a home where the lights are already on, the smell of dinner heavy in the hallway; other times he drags his feet in in the middle of the night to find the door to Prompto's room closed, a clear sign of it being occupied.

It's a bit weird, at first, but as the months pass, Cor learns to enjoy the sight of Prompto's sneakers or school shoes in the hallway when he comes home. The boy is good company – has alwasys been, Cor reminisces while staring at old photographs – and as much as Cor loathes to admit it, the presence of another living being in his apartment has brough a much-awaited change to his mood as well, if any of his underlings are to be believed.

The only thing Cor doesn't like is Prompto's habit of rising up to greet the sunrise with a long run way too early in the morning. At first, he keeps on waking up to the sounds of Prompto stirring, tiptoeing into the kitchen and the hallway and then out of the door, always so quiet but never quiet enough; by the time Prompto is out of the door, Cor still has an hour or so before his alarm clock is set to ring, and it takes him weeks to learn to fall asleep again.

Prompto's early morning runs average to forty-five minutes or so. This means that instead of waking up to his fake-cheery, disgustingly nauseating generic cell phone alarm, Cor regains consciousness to the sounds of someone moving in the kitchen. It's nice in its own way – certainly calmer than the alarm – and more importantly, there's food on the table when Cor tumbles out of the shower with damp hair and clothes sticking to his skin. They eat their breakfast and go their own ways, Cor heading to work while Prompto spends the extra hour in his schedule prepping for the day's classes. In the evening, when he returns home, the apartment may be empty again, but that's okay; a little solitude has never bothered Cor, nor does he think it ever will. 

* * *

On a Saturday morning, Cor wakes up to the beat of a metal whisk rapping against a glass bowl; he knows the materials because they're the only ones he owns. When he squints at his phone, he's glad to notice Prompto has acknowledged the extra hour of sleep Cor gifts himself on his days off; it's still way too early in the day, but routine is health and so Cor turns off his alarm and rolls out of bed. He showers quickly and gets dressed, and when he shuffles into the kitchen, the coffee machine sputters a greeting.

”Morning, kid,” Cor murmurs around a yawn. There are two cups of coffee brewing in the machine, both for him, and he waits until the last drops splash into the pan before pouring out the first one.

”Morning, Cor,” Prompto greets him. He's already showered and changed out of his running clothes, and is instead wearing a different pair of chocobo-yellow shorts and a bright blue t-shirt.

Cor sips at the too-hot coffee and eyes the blond teenager cooking up a storm. There's some sort of a breakfast bake in the oven and two bowls of cut-up fruit wait on the counter while Prompto lets bacon sizzle on a frying pan. It's a big, hearty breakfast on the way, more than enough to feed the two of them – whatever is in the oven, it's going to leave leftovers – and Cor would offer help if he hadn't already learned his lesson.

”Thought you were gonna spend the night at Noctis' place,” he says instead. 

Prompto shrugs but doesn't turn away from the stove. ”Noct was being a dick.” He fiddles with his bracelet but doesn't offer anything more.

”Yeah? What'd he do?” Cor is curious and more than a little worried; he's pretty sure the two teens have never had a serious fight, even though they're at the age where it's pretty much expected of them.

Another awkward shrug. ”Just the money thing again,” Prompto mutters so quietly Cor almost doesn't hear it.

”Ah.” That explained it. ”How big of a dick are we talking about?” Cor asks, then grins into his coffee when Prompto splutters a horrifed laugh.

”Pretty tiny,” the blond chortles, shoulders shaking. ”I texted him before I got back here. We're even now.”

The thought of early morning monster Noctis makes Cor grimace, but so does 'the money thing' – the sum of one poor boy and one extremely rich one trying to navigate the same world. Even after being adopted by two of Insomnia's richest men, Prompto still shies away from spending money on things he deems unnecessary or too expensive. Noctis, on the other hand, struggles with trying to understand why Prompto still refuses to use money now that he has more than enough of it. It's a mess, one that Cor understands but doesn't really know how to solve.

The kitchen timer beeps twice before Prompto reaches to shut it down. He peeks into the oven and pulls out a round frittata, veggies peeking through the golden egg mixture. Cor picks up one of the pot coasters and flaps it in the middle of the table.

”Thanks.” Prompto lowers the frittata on the coaster and plucks off his oven gloves, setting them on the counter. Cor catches him twisting the bracelet on his right hand and frowns.

While Prompto gathers the rest of the breakfast and the plates to the table, Cor watches him. Every time the blond lifts his right hand up, his left hand reaches to check the bracelet as soon as his hands are free again. When the bracelet touches something, he fingers the straps to make sure they're still there. Even when he's still, he can't refrain from poking at the bracelet.

It's an obvious habit. To anyone else, it would be just that, a habit, but to Cor – to Cor it's a warning sign.

”Prompto,” he says slowly. The blond stops next to the stove and turns to him. ”Did either of your parents ever talk to you about your tattoo?”

The effect is instantaneous. Prompto startles so bad his arms shoot out, catching the glass bowl he used to whisk the eggs and dropping it to the floor. The bowl breaks and Prompto sets his foot down, grunts and lifts it again; his right hand slams down on the hot stove and this time the sound he makes is almost a scream. Then, to finish off his dance, he crumbles to the floor, chest heaving for air like there wasn't any around him. He sobs, once, and Cor realizes his mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

Cor stares at the scene before him and curses himself. ”That's a no, then,” he says, standing up. Prompto, still cowering on the floor, flinches away from him. ”It's okay, I promise everything is fine.”

He ignores the nausea in his guts and glances at the floor, taking in the glass shards; they're all large and visible against the floor, no treacherous splinters to be seen. Cor steps closer to Prompto and squats down. The bottom of his left foot is bleeding around a piece of glass and he's cradling his right hand against his chest, clearly in pain.

”Okay, kid, here's what we're gonna do,” Cor says. ”You're hurt, so we're going to get you to the living room. Your injuries don't require a doctor, so we'll use a potion on both and you'll be just fine. Then, when you're all fixed up, I'm going to tell you what your parents should've told you years before. It might be scary, but I promise you – I _promise_ , Prompto – that you're not in any trouble nor will you ever be. Not over this. Okay?”

Prompto nods but doesn't look convinced. Cor helps him to his feet and they hobble past the broken glass and into the living room, where he carefully sits Prompto into the armchair that's too old to look good but too comfy to be replaced. Prompto's crying already, whether from the pain or because of the tattoo Cor doesn't know. He's fairly sure the blond has been in the middle of a panic attack ever since he blurted out the question.

This isn't the first panic attack Prompto's had since starting high school but so far they've all been infrequent enough, only happening under extreme distress – like learning about his father's death – and thus not really requiring too much medical interference. Seeing Prompto like this, however, makes Cor wonder if that's really the whole truth of the matter, if the panic attacks are a recurring problem after all. If this is just another secret Prompto has learned to hold close to his heart.

Cor kneels down by Prompto's feet and rests his palms on the teen's knees. He's shaking and choking on nothing, gaze unfocused. ”Prompto,” Cor says firmly, trying and failing to make eye contact. ”You're in a safe environment. I am here and I promise I won't let anything happen to you.”

The reaction is slow but Prompto nods, sniffling, and tries to gasp for breath. His foot is still bleeding on the carpet but it's the hand that has Cor worried; the burn covers most of the four fingers and even a bit of the palm, the skin swollen and red, already forming blisters. It's got to hurt like hell.

”Okay, Prompto,” Cor says, pauses to wait until Prompto's eyes find him again. ”I have potions in my own bathroom. They'll make you feel a lot better, but I'll need to leave you alone for a moment to get them.”

Prompto looks like he'd protest if he could, so Cor digs out his phone and sets the timer app for one minute. ”I see you don't want to let me go, Prompto, but I think it really important we heal your injuries as soon as possible,” he says and sets the phone on Prompto's lap. ”Here's a timer; it's going to count down from one minute, and before that one minute is over, I'll be back. I promise. Do you think you can do it?”

There's no answer beyond choked whimpers and so Cor starts the timer and walks away. He knows exactly where his first aid kit is and it only takes him a moment to grab the red case as well as a clean towel; when he returns to the living room, there are twenty-three seconds left on the timer. Cor sits down on the floor and takes the phone from Prompto.

”Okay,” he says, glancing at the teen. ”I know your hand must be hurting a lot right now, but we've gotta start with your foot. I'm going to pull out the shard as carefully as I can, and when I'm done, I'll pour the potion over it.”

Prompto makes a sound that's closer to a word than any of the attempts before and Cor nods. He sets the towel under Prompto's foot and uncorks the potion, then takes a tight hold of the injured foot. The shard is large and the wound wide; removing it is going to hurt a lot.

”I'm going to start now,” Cor says. He touches the piece of glass with a fingertip to test the give; it's stuck tight. Keeping a close ear on Prompto's whimpers, he begins removing the shard, ever so slowly pulling it out without wiggling it. The wound is shallower than he feared and soon the shard pops free, so Cor drops it on the towel as blood begins to gush out of the wound. He can't see or feel more glass anywhere so he pours the first potion over the wound, slowly letting it trickle over the skin until the bottle is empty and only a thin pink line remains on the skin.

”Okay, that's your foot taken care of,” Cor says. He wipes his hands clean on the towel, though rusty blood still creeps into the thin lines and wrinkles on his skin. ”Does it still hurt? Can you say?”

Prompto shrugs, tries to mumble something. His words are inaudible but his breathing has began to calm down.

”That's fine.” Cor reaches for the burnt hand and holds back his grimace. The skin is badly burned, broken and blistering. When he applies the potion, the burn heals to a pink sheen but the ghost of the pain remains. ”Is the pain receding at all?”

A beat. ”I dunno,” Prompto mumbles. ”I guess.”

Cor pats Prompto's knee and gets up, collecting the first aid kid and the towel. He takes his fleece throw from the couch and lays it over the teen, making sure it's tucked around the blood-stained feet. The panic attack is almost over and Cor busies himself cleaning up the kitchen, picking up the remaining glass shards and quickly rebuilding the puzzle to make sure the piece that was stuck in Prompto's feet lines up with the others. It does, so he managed to get all of the glass out. Good.

When Cor glances towards the living room, he sees Prompto watching him with a worn expression. Their breakfast is still edible so he cuts two slices of the frittata and stacks them on a plate with the cooled-down bacon, then picks up the fruit bowls and the forks and heads for the living room. He hands one of the fruit bowls to Prompto and lays the rest on the table before sittind down. This is not a conversation to have on an empty stomach.


	3. Chapter 3

”Eat up,” Cor says says. He motions towards the fruit bowl on Prompto's lap and the blond complies slowly. ”In case you didn't hear me before, let me reiterate: you are not in any trouble because of your tattoo, nor will you be.”

Cor bites into a strip of bacon while Prompto pokes at the fruit. ”How did you know?” the blond asks, looking at him through wet lashes.

”Your parents told me,” Cor says, then smirks. ”I also changed your diapers more than once.”

He expects a spluttery, red-faced laugh, but is instead rewarded with a half-hearted snort. Cor sighs and finishes off his bacon. ”How much do you actually know about the tattoo?” he asks. Prompto shrugs and pokes a slice of orange into his mouth.

”It's a fucking barcode, Cor,” he says when he finishes chewing. His voice is tired and humorless; Cor hasn't heard him speak like this ever before. ”Like a bag of tomatoes at a grocery store. It's not that hard to guess what it means.”

Cor hums. ”Never seen a bag of tomatoes with free will before, though,” he quips. This time, when Prompto looks up and rolls his eyes, there's a fond curve to his lips. ”Did Mimosa or John ever tell you anything?”

Prompto shakes his head. ”Just to keep it covered,” he answers. ”I, uh, moogled it a lot. Didn't really find anything useful at first, but then I started ending up on some Niff blogs and forums, and when the same words kept on popping up page after page... I kind of figured there had to be some truth to it.”

Cor makes a mental note to look up the websites Prompto is talking about; anything pertaining to Prompto's origin is confidential information in Lucis, and if Nifflheim is handling things differently then there's a big mess brewing. ”Yeah? And what kinds of words are we talking about?”

Prompto's hand stills and he rests his fork against the edge of the bowl. ”You know,” he says, looking up slowly. ”Science experiments. Clones. _Magitek_.”

”They're not wrong,” Cor says. Across the table, Prompto draws in a shaky breath and closes his eyes. ”The Magitek program was officially shut down after the peace treaty in 733, but the process lasted until around 736. The cloned humans involved in the program were meant to be placed in homes and orphanages, but several staff members smuggled younger children out by themselves. You were one of those.”

A lot of ugly words had been thrown around when the final treaty was signed. Culling, euthanizing. Many of the older clones were beyond rehabilitation – still _are_ , but trying is the only choice in the matter – and politicians around the world decided the younger ones weren't safe either, but eventually a line was drawn and dozens of children with barcodes on their wrists were shipped to orphanages around Eos. Cor knows of seven clones in Insomnia today, from six different faculties. The two that come from the same place were raised as a set of identical twins.

”Why'd my mom agree to take me?” Prompto asks, all of sudden, murmured words so thin Cor only barely catches them.

”I don't know,” he has to admit. ”All I know is that while she was technically considered a Tenebraean citizen, she still remembered Nifflheim. My guess is she saw a chance to help someone the same way she'd been helped as a child and took it.”

Mimosa was always a helper. Cor didn't know her half as well as he knew John, and still he knows that she went above and beyond her duty to aid those in need. In the end, her beloved Niff district became her death, but Cor is fairly sure that if there is an afterlife, then she's more worried about her killers than herself.

Prompto still looks upset and doubtful, so Cor sighs and taps on the table's edge to get his attention. ”Hey,” he says, trying to smile in an encouraging manner; ”if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that Mimosa loved you more than anything else. _Never_ doubt her love for you.”

Prompto spears a grape with his fork and chews it slowly. ”Does Noctis know?” he asks eventually, head down and voice defeated.

”I imagine he's been made aware of the existence of people like you,” Cor says, ”but when offered, he turned down your file. I believe his explanation was that if there's something he needs to know, then you'll tell him when you're ready.”

”And the others?”

”Regis and Clarus both know about you specifically, and I believe Ignis does as well. I'm not sure about Gladio, but he too is aware of the meaning of the tattoo.”

There's no reaction to Cor's words. He watches as Prompto continues to poke at his fruit, the frittata and bacon completely ignored in favor of a cup of fruit that's probably turned to mush by now. Cor wishes there was more he could do to help Prompto, but with an issue like this – what could he possibly do to make it okay? What could he do to the erase the hurt brought by the knowledge of being a clone, a child soldier, a feat of engineering destined to become one of the most feared contraceptions in recent history? Right now, the answer is precariously close to nothing.

”Is it okay?” Prompto asks feebly, breakfast forgotten even as he stares at it like the fruit somehow held the truth of the universe. ”That I'm – not human. That I'm friends with Noct. Everything.”

Igniring the burst of his heart breaking, Cor gets up from the couch to kneel at Prompto's feet once more. The blond won't look at him directly, but he also doesn't pull away when Cor lays his palms over blanket-covered knees. ”Prompto,” he sighs; ”first of all, you are a human being. Your DNA is no different from mine or anyone else's, so I don't want to ever hear you refer to yourself as non-human again, do you hear that?”

No answer, though Prompto's face scrunches up as the first tears roll out on reddened cheeks. ”Secondly, we reviewed your _entire_ file when you and Noctis became friends two years ago. The only concerns we had were all related to John.”

Cor doesn't voice the implication that the crown had several chances to remove Prompto from Noctis' life, nor does he mention the minor uproar in the Council when they found out the Crown Prince had befriended a boy whose father was on the anti-crown watch list. That's all in the past, now, and there's little point in worrying about the Council's perceptions of Prompto when the blond has not only Noctis but Regis and the Amicitias all wrapped around his little finger; Cor himself is on the same list, as much as he still tries to deny it every time Clarus or Regis bring the matter up.

”Can I go to my room now?”

Cor eyes the fruit bowl. ”Can you finish the rest of that?”

Prompto shakes his head and loosens his hold on the bowl. Cor stands up with a sigh and takes the bowl, setting it on the table where the rest of Prompto's breakfast still waits. ”That's fine,” he says while the teen stands up on shaky feet. ”You can eat later. How's the foot? There shouldn't be any residual pain from the wound.”

”It's fine,” Prompto murmurs. He folds the throw and sets it on the armchair. ”My hand's a little sore. Nothing bad.”

Coming from Prompto's mouth, 'nothing bad' could mean anything from wanting to die from the pain to a mild inconvenience; based on way too much experience with burn wounds, Cor assumes it's closer to the latter. ”Yeah, sorry about that,” he says, laying a hand on Prompto's shoulder and walking him towards the second bedroom. ”I'd give you some ibuprofen but they don't really help much, and anything heavier would be bit of an overkill.”

They arrive in the room and Prompto immediately goes for the bed, curling under the blanket. ”It's really not that bad,” he reiterates, then hesitates. ”Can – can you–”

He cuts himself off, an embarrassed flush on his face. Cor turns off the lights. ”Do you want the door open?”

The mumbled plea is almost lost in the plush pillows but Cor nods nevertheless, stepping back into the hallway and pulling at the door until it's almost shut. He can see a sliver of light shining into the bedroom through the gap and remembers the little boy from ten years before who slept in the same bed, door propped open because John and Mimosa had forgotten to pack the chocobo-shaped night lamp.

Cor sighs and turns back to the kitchen, making sure to drag his feet on the plastic floors and the worn carpets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks 100,000 words of fiction posted on my account! When I first started dabbling in this fandom, I had a couple vague ideas, which now have grown into novel-lenght works I'm extremely proud of. All your comments, kudos, bookmarks/subscriptions etc make me so happy - a million thanks to all my readers and everyone who has supported my fics <3


	4. Chapter 4

Prompto doesn't leave Cor's place until Sunday afternoon. He doesn't want Noctis to be sleeping when he gets to the apartment but he doesn't want to show up at lunch time either, so he helps Cor with the tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. They make the soup from scratch and Prompto snaps a quick photo of his plates to show Ignis. The food is good, even though Prompto's feeling too nervous and stressed to truly enjoy it.

Noct's apartment isn't that far from where Cor lives so Prompto walks over, dragging his feet past puddles of last night's rain. The day is clouded and cool so he's wearing the hoodie he stole from Noct a year and a half earlier; it's getting old and worn, but the front pocket is warm as ever when he stuffs his hands into it. A young woman jogging with a massive dog passes him and he glances at the dog, smiling just a little. It's a cute puppy.

No matter how much he drags his feet, he can't make the walk last forever. Eventually he turns the corner to Noct's street, then to Noct's apartment building, and the man at the door lets him in with a polite greeting. Prompto tries to smile at him like he usually does, but he can't. In the elevator, he fiddles with the bracelet.

Ignis opens the door. ”Hello, Prompto,” he greets him, stepping aside to let him in. Prompto murmurs a hello and kicks off his shoes, glancing towards the living room area before facing Ignis. ”His Highness is showering after his training lesson. Gladio will return for dinner.”

”Okay.”

Noctis isn't in the room and Ignis is watching him, so Prompto watches him in turn. His hands are still in the pocket. Trembling, he slips off his bracelet and shoves his arm towards Ignis before he can change his mind. ”Cor says you know what that is,” he mumbles.

”I do,” Ignis says, reaching for Prompto's wrist but stopping before their hands touch. ”May I?”

Prompto nods and thin fingers close around his palm and wrist, almost cold against his skin. Ignis slides a thumb over the barcode and Prompto shivers, but doesn't pull away. There's a sad smile on Ignis' face and Prompto thinks he's never seen an expression as terrible as the one he's currently looking at.

There's a lot more on Prompto's skin than just the black ink that somehow grows with his body. The ink runs deep, deeper than normal tattoos, and there's nothing to be done about it; the scars littering the white skin around the barcode are testament to that. The patch of skin usually covered by his bracelet is so marred no hairs grow on it, but worst of all, the cuts continue to the underside of his wrist where they overlap only the blue of his veins.

He's confessing to a lot more than just his birth.

”I was aware, of course, ever since I read your file,” Ignis murmurs. He pulls at Prompto's arm until their bodies rest flush against each other, coddles the teen in an embrace that means more than any words ever could. ”Oh, darling.”

Ignis' shirt still carries the faint scent of seafood and roasted garlic, remnants of Noctis' lunch. ”Is it okay?” Prompto murmurs into the dark purple fabric, repeating the same question he'd asked Cor. He's asking about the barcode and the scars both, and Ignis' chest heaves under his face as the man sighs deeply.

”Of course, sweetheart,” he says. His hands are rubbing circles into Prompto's shoulders. ”I believe I speak for all of us when I say that there is very little to make us stop loving you, and this doesn't even come close.”

Prompto nods and pulls away just a fraction, Ignis immediately loosening his hold but not letting go completely. This is something he's not ready for and he's already starting to feel suffocated as he forces himself into confessions, but he knows it's something he'll have to do sooner or later anyways and now is a time as good as any other. He feels vulnerable in a way that makes his skin crawl but he also wants to be held and told he doesn't deserve this hurt.

”Have you come to tell Noctis?” Ignis asks, one hand braced against a tense shoulder. Unable to form words, Prompto nods. ”He'll be a moment longer, but if you wish to, I can wait with you.”

Shaking his head, Prompto steps away from Ignis and towards the living room. ”It's okay,” he whispers.

”If that's what you want,” Ignis smiles. ”I'll be in the kitchen if you need me for any reason.”

Prompto gets settled on the couch and watches as Ignis retreats to the kitchen to continue preparing for the dinner. It's not that late in the day yet, just past lunch hour, but they'll be eating a good Sunday roast and whatever the meat and the sides, it always takes time. For a long time, Ignis' Sunday dinner was the best food in Prompto's life; he's not a bad cook, has never been one, but he also grew up significantly poorer and didn't exactly get to enjoy the finest cuts of meat. Now, living at the Amicitia manor, they're all he eats.

In the kitchen, Ignis pulls out a covered bowl and sets it on the counter. Prompto smiles against the black fabric of the couch; no matter how good the roast is, it's not his favorite part of the meal. The freshly baked bread with massive air bubbles and the crunchiest crust is. Whether individual rolls or a larger loaf, the bread soaks up butter and gravy alike, and Prompto feels his mouth water just thinking about it. There's a jar of starter dough in the fridge, one that Ignis made himself years earlier and has been feeding meticuously ever since. The taste of the finished product is unimaginably good.

The sound of Noctis stumbling around in his bedroom freezes the smile on Prompto's face. He looks at the door and pulls his knees closer to his chest, hiding his wrist in the folds of the black hoodie. When Noctis throws the door open and steps into the room, he looks surprised to see Prompto, but soon a pleased smile takes over his face. ”Heey, Prom!” he grins. ”Guess I didn't hear you come in.”

Prompto shrugs and Noctis sits down on the couch facing him, so close their knees touch. ”Hey, uh,” Noctis stammers, shifting around to find the best position before he continues: ”I know Iggy got a text from Cor saying you were upset about something, but it's not – it wasn't about Friday, was it?”

It wasn't, so Prompto shakes his head. Friday was just a little hiccup in their plans, frustration building up to the point where he decided it'd be better to walk away and let things cool down on their own. This is different, so much more than a little argument over money. Ignis is watching them from the kitchen.

”Prom?” Noctis prods, voice soft and careful. He leans forward and Prompto looks away even as he unfurls his body and hands his right arm for inspection. He can't look at Noct so he looks at Ignis, who holds his gaze with a gentle smile on his lips. His hands are covered in flour.

For the second time in a very short time fingers grasp at the naked skin of his wrist. Unlike Ignis' cool fingertips, Noctis' skin is still warm from his shower, almost hot where he feels the raised welts of scars that aren't all as old as he'd like to say they are. Finally, when Noctis continues to stroke the scars with trembling hands, Prompto looks away from Ignis. ”Noct?” he murmurs in a high-pitched voice, worry and anxiety beginning to build inside of him.

Noctis opens his mouth but doesn't say anything, only shakes his head. He turns Prompto's wrist over and looks at the soft underside, the red scars, and when their gazes meet, his eyes are filled with so much pain Prompto wishes he could turn back time and leave this all undone. ”Oh, Prom,” Noctis sighs, still holding onto his hand. It's clear he doesn't know what to say. ”You're so important to me, you know that, right?”

Prompto wants to nod, but he doesn't have it in him to follow through the motions yet. ”Is it okay?”

” _Of course_ it's okay, dummy,” Noctis says. He looks desperate and the pads of his fingers dig into the scars on the underside of Prompto's wrist. ”But not this. This isn't – this isn't okay, got it? Thanks for – thanks for telling me, though.”

Prompto doesn't know to say so he pulls his hand free and wiggles his fingers, making grabby motions until Noctis smiles and crawls to him. They hug and settle down for a cuddle, Prompto almost buried under the weight of his best friend, but he doesn't mind. They shuffle around a little, Prompto shimmying closer to the backrest while Noctis falls against his hip on the opposite site, but they've been friends long enough that slotting their bodies together comes as natural as breathing. Prompto curls his fingers into the back of Noct's t-shirt and inhales the scent of his shampoo.

Ignis comes over, hands clean of dough and holding the edge of a thin quilt. He spreads it over the two of them and makes sure to lay a kiss on each head, one on Prompto's forehead and one on Noct's damp hair. ”If you fall asleep, I'll wake you up for dinner,” he says. Noctis makes a sleepy sound and burrows into the crook of Prompto's neck.

* * *

When Gladio arrives, Prompto's neither asleep nor awake. He's drifting in sluggish warmth, feeling little else but the beat of Noctis' heart against his and the slow rise of their chests. Snuggled together like this, it's almost too easy to match his breathing to Noct's, but it also makes it even more apparent how fast his heart is fluttering even when he's calm and doing nothing, like a little rabbit knocking on his ribs. Noct has commented on it more than once.

”Heya, Blondie,” Gladio murmurs. He's leaning against the backrest, crouched over the two slumbering teens, and he's so tall he looks like a giant to Prompto. ”Heard you had a couple bad days, eh.”

Prompto stares up at him, at the head haloed by the ceiling light. He can smell the roast and the bread, heavy scents wafting in the air, but Noctis is still asleep in his arms like a trusted teddy or a security blanket. Prompto swallows and unhooks his fingers from Noct's shirt, tugging at the quilt until his hands are free, and then he thrusts his right hand up towards the ceiling and Gladio.

”Is it okay?” he asks. Gladio takes hold of his arm and twists it a little so he can see what he's supposed to be looking at, and then he closes his eyes and chokes.

”Yeah, kid, it's okay,” he says in a voice so gravelly it might as well be broken. He continues to hold onto Prompto's wrist, his hands warm and safe. ”It's all okay.”

Prompto's shoulder is starting to tire so he lets his arm drop over the quilt, and then under it, into the protective cocoon filled with his and Noctis' warmth. Gladio stays where he is, looking down on him with brown eyes brimming with sadness. ”You tell dad about–” he asks, ”or Cor–”

He's talking about the scars so Prompto shakes his head as much as he's able to. Gladio sighs. ”You know I gotta tell them, yeah?” he says, and this time Prompto nods. He knew even before he left Cor's apartment. ”Right. Just so you know. Uh, Iggy says the dinner is almost ready so you can start trying to get Princess here up on his feet.”

Prompto's still looking up at Gladio. There's an emptiness inside of him that doesn't really feel like anything, just is, neither hot nor cold but still noticeable. He's like a ghost. ”I want to die,” he says.

He sees Gladio flinch and scrunch up his face and hears Noctis inhale loudly. The body on top of him is suddenly tense and moving, Noctis lifting his upper body up so he, too, can stare down at Prompto with pain and horror in his eyes. Prompto chokes and turns his gaze to the backrest, but lays still and quiet when Gladio circles the couch and kneels by his head, and then Ignis is there too, on the floor and reaching for Prompto's hand where it's still twisted into the fabric of Noctis' shirt.

Prompto closes his eyes and lets his friends hold him.

* * *

They're half-way through the dinner when Prompto reaches for a slice of oven-warm bread and realizes his wrist is still bare. He freezes, on the edge of panicking, but the others only glance at him to see what's happening before they return to their meals. Prompto draws in a deep breath and on the exhale, he wraps the bracelet around his wrist once more.

He's been brave enough already.


End file.
